


The Cold

by lionessvalenti



Category: Grimm (TV)
Genre: Captivity, Community: dark_bingo, Confined/Caged, M/M, Sex Trafficking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-14
Updated: 2012-05-14
Packaged: 2017-11-05 09:24:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/404818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lionessvalenti/pseuds/lionessvalenti
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Monroe is alone, but it's better than when he's not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Cold

Time passed slowly. Or at least he thought it did. Having no concept of time made it seem like it dragged on, but theoretically, what felt like weeks may have been exactly that. Or it may have been years. Monroe couldn't be certain.

He counted the seconds from his cage. No, not _his_ cage. _A_ cage. He was in a cage, but it didn't belong to him. It wasn't his. He didn't live there.

That's what he kept telling himself. It wasn't his. This wasn't his collar he was wearing. It was _a_ collar he was wearing -- the only thing he was wearing. It was a collar around his neck, a cold chain resting against his throat, but it wasn't his. It wasn't his bowl with the drugged food that kept him docile. He tried not to eat it once he realized it made him sleepy and weak, but the hunger became too much.

Monroe's hands shook. He tucked them in his armpits, trying to warm them. He thought of the caramel pear tea sitting in a cannister on the shelf in his kitchen. He hadn't tried it yet, the plastic seal still around the metal lid, but it sounded warm and comforting.

He held onto thoughts of tea and beer. Making dinner or taking a shower. Reading a book or, heaven help him, filing his taxes. He held onto normalcy.

The hours of loneliness weren't the worst part. It wasn't the darkness or the drafty barn with the leaky roof; the spiked collar, or the cold, metal cage. He could live with that, bear it as long as he had to, but his stomach twisted into knots when the doors opened.

His captor didn't wear a mask, but he didn't have to. There had been hope when Monroe first smelled a fellow Blutbad, until he realized it wasn't the cavalry. It was the enemy.

"Why are you doing this?" Monroe had asked that first day.

"It's not personal," he had replied. "It's just business."

Business. Monroe curled up in the corner of the cage. He closed his eyes and tried to fall asleep. Sleep made the time go by faster. It gave him a chance to forget, for just a few hours.

\---

Monroe woke to the sound of the heavy padlock on the cage being opened. He covered his face with his hands. "No, no, no..."

He could have fought back, but even drugged, it wasn't important. This Blutbad was bigger than him. Stronger. He wouldn't stand a chance, and they both knew it.

"Come on," he said, grabbing Monroe around the ankle, dragging him out of the cage. "You reek."

Monroe couldn't argue with that. He hated the smell of himself, like the floor and the thin, rough blanket with him in the cage. He scrambled to his feet, stretching his legs now that he could finally stand. The Blutbad clipped a chain to the collar and pulled him to the far corner of the barn.

The Blutbad forced Monroe to his knees. "Hands on your head," he said, but he didn't have to. Monroe was already lifting his arms. This didn't happen every day -- or at least he didn't think so -- but it had happened enough times. He knew the drill by now.

Frigid water from the hose hit his back and Monroe howled. It was so cold it felt like his bones were on fire, his whole body shaking. Tears streamed down his face, mixing with the water as the Blutbad wet his hair.

He poured a lemon-scented soap on top of Monroe's head. He gagged, the smell of it making him wanting to throw up. It didn't really foam up because the Blutbad never touched Monroe's body, but just let a few suds run down his back.

The Blutbad pressed the toe of his boot against Monroe's shoulder. "On your hands," he said.

Monroe dropped onto the floor, the old concrete floor gritty under his hands. He braced himself, the spray hitting him in the ass, right up against his hole. The Blutbad angled the hose to clean under Monroe's balls.

"Up," he said, grabbing the chain and jerking it. He threw a towel at Monroe. "Dry yourself."

The towel didn't smell great, but it wasn't as bad at the cage. Monroe rubbed it over his skin and hair. He only had a few moments to try and dry himself. Finally, the Blutbad jerked the chain and pulled Monroe across the room, toward the door.

It was dark outside, and the moon was only sliver in the sky. Monroe wasn't sure the last time he'd seen daylight.

The Blutbad dragged Monroe across the backyard and into the tiny house. He shoved Monroe into the bedroom. It smelled like Pine-Sol and the brown and yellow striped comforter was rough under Monroe's fingers and the pattern made his drug-hazed vision spin. It was still more comfortable than the cage, up on his hands and knees, but only for now.

He was left alone in the room, and Monroe looked over at the mirrored closet door. He looked pale and gaunt, his cheeks hollowed beneath his scraggly beard. He barely recognized himself.

Footsteps fell outside the room. Monroe took a deep breath. He could smell the Blutbad, and another person -- a human man.

"Is he safe?" the human asked. "I've never done a Blutbad before. Only Schakal and Geiers."

Monroe shuddered. He'd known that Wesen sex trafficking was a thing, but he'd had no idea humans were part of it, that they were even aware of the Wesen world. The longer Monroe was there, the more he understood why they did it. Controlled danger, screwing something stronger than yourself and winning.

The Blutbad just laughed. "Don't you want him to be dangerous? Do you think you can tame him?"

"It's two thousand, right?"

"That's right... holler if he gets out of control. I'll be right outside."

The door opened and Monroe glanced in the mirror again. The man was young, not even thirty, just like most of the men who walked into the room. It was like a drug. They did it for the high.

"I wish you weren't so drugged up," the human said, running his hand along Monroe's back. Monroe cringed under the touch. "I like it when they fight back."

Monroe's stomach lurched. He turned his eyes away from the mirror. He didn't want to see.

The human slapped his ass. "Can you fight me? Give me a hard time."

Monroe couldn't speak. The drugs slurred his speech, and now he was pretty sure he'd be sick if he opened his mouth. He wasn't going to give this man anything. Even through the haze, he knew that.

"Come on." The human knelt onto the bed. He grabbed Monroe's shoulder and rolled him onto his back. He smacked Monroe across the face. "Come on, bitch. Make it worth my while. Worth the two grand I just spent on you. You know you master in there won't keep you if you're not any good."

Closing his eyes, Monroe felt the human's hand slap his face again. He ground his teeth and opened his eyes. He could feel the wolf building up inside of him, drugs or not. He wanted to rip this guy's arms off -- he'd done it before. He'd rather bathe in blood than in the disgusting lemon soap.

"Show me your face!" the human snapped.

Monroe opened his eyes. The human had taken off his shirt and his pants jeans were unbuttoned. He slid his first two fingers into his mouth, wetting them with his saliva. He lowered his hand between Monroe's legs and shoved them deep into Monroe's hole.

Monroe growled. He wanted to rip off the man's face, if he could only lift his head.

"You disgust me," the human said, removing his fingers. He pulled down his jeans and turned Monroe back onto his stomach.

Monroe closed his eyes again. If he could get through it, he could just go back to his cage. If he could get through this, he was one day closer to pear caramel tea and beers with Nick. He'd never complain about taxes again.

There'd have to be an end to it someday.

\---

Monroe shivered as he tried to sleep. He thought about pulling the blanket up over him, but then he'd be laying directly on the cold floor.

He heard the barn door open, and he groaned. He was pretty sure it had been a day, maybe two, since the last time he'd been in the house, but he wasn't ready to go again. He wasn't sure if he could handle another cold shower. His body might give out this time.

"Monroe? Monroe!"

Slowly, Monroe lifted his head. The Blutbad wasn't on the other side of the bars. It was Nick. God, was he hallucinating? He breathed in slowly, and, yes it smelled like Nick.

"Nick?"

"I'm going to get you out of here," Nick said. "Just wait."

Monroe sat up as well as he could in the cage, watching as Nick use a pair of bolt cutters to break the lock. "How'd you find me?" he asked. His tongue felt heavy in his mouth, the words strange after so long of barely speaking.

"I've been looking for you for months," Nick said. He opened the door and grabbed Monroe around the arm. "Do you think you can stand? Do you need a hand?"

"Yeah, yeah." Monroe crawled forward and Nick helped him to his feet. "How long have--"

"Almost five months," Nick replied. He shed his coat and wrapped it around Monroe's shoulders. "It's okay, Monroe. I'm going to get you home."

Monroe finally focused in on Nick's face. "Did you get him? Did you--"

Nick shook his head. "He's gone. But believe me, I'm not going to let it go. I'll find him."

"I know," Monroe said, letting Nick lead him out of the barn. He wasn't sure what he had expected, lots of police cars with flashing lights, but there was only Nick's car. He'd been missing for a while. Probably too long for anyone else to keep looking for a grown man. He wondered how long Nick had been investigating this alone.

Monroe got into the front seat of the car and Nick draped a blanket over his lap. When Nick started the car, hot air blasted through the vents. Monroe leaned his head against the seat and looked over at Nick.

"How'd you find me?"

Nick shrugged. "I followed the clues. Even the seemingly insignificant ones." He glanced over and smiled. "I wasn't going to give up on you."

Monroe nuzzled his face against the scratchy wool of Nick's coat. He was starting to feel warm for the first time in -- months. It had been months. "Thanks, Nick. I owe you--"

Nick held up a hand. "You don't owe me anything. I'm just glad you're... you're alive. Get some rest, okay?"

Monroe meant to reply, but the fuzz was coming back. He closed his eyes, relaxing for the first time in what felt like forever. He was safe. He could sleep.


End file.
